


Apotheosis

by rambunctiousragamuffin



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (ex-Traci. yes doesn't count if they can't say no), Case Fic, F/M, Implied/Referenced Past Non-Con, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, graphic descriptions of crime scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-05-31 16:43:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15123626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rambunctiousragamuffin/pseuds/rambunctiousragamuffin
Summary: Now that an android's right to self-determination is legally recognised, it only makes sense that some androids are exercising that right to exact revenge on those who had previously wronged them. Connor and Hank, "leading detectives" of android/human crimes are on the hunt for a serial killer who is meting out some extra-judicial justice.And you? You're caught in the middle.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (any chapter specific tws will be included @ the beginning of each chap)
> 
> chap: 1 tws are off-screen murder of a throwaway victim, dismemberment, and castration

Detroit’s perpetual patter of rainfall had Hank dashing from the car to the porch awning, the collar of his coat upturned to cover his neck because the distance was short enough that it didn’t warrant the effort of opening an umbrella. Connor trailed after him, completely unfazed.

 

“Jesus, kid. You could at least pretend to be  _ mildly _ inconvenienced,” Hank snipped prissily while folding his collar back down.

 

Connor did have the good grace to halt his observation of the white paint turned black with mold peeling from the rotten wooden façade and smiled sheepishly at Hank.

 

Hank scoffed dismissively before turning to the beat cop who had been first responder on-scene.

 

“What do we have?” Hank asked her.

 

She took a moment to rub her hands together and blew on them before sticking them under her armpits.

 

“Couple of local kids were casing the joint. They’d heard it’d been uninhabited for a while, thought they’d check it out for their clubhouse, or whatever. One of ‘em found the body when they went to go piss.”

 

“The kids still around?” Hank asked her.

 

The cop unsnaked an arm to point behind her with her thumb over her shoulder.

 

“One of ‘em. Most of them ran off before we arrived, but my partner’s trying to calm down the one who found the body. It was… uh. It was a bit of a mess.”

 

Hank winced, and Connor pressed his lips together in a flat line in a way that he hoped approximate a grimace, and nodded his head sadly.

 

“Thank you, Officer,” Connor said. “We’ll take it from here.”

 

“Good luck,” she snorted.

 

Even though Hank was closer to the door, he still gestured for Connor to go first. Connor inclined his head in thanks at the polite angle of 38 degrees and proceeded to enter.

 

The teenager sitting at the bottom of the staircase had a mylar blanket across his shoulders, and he was exhibiting paleness, increased heart rate and respiration, and dilated pupils; all common signs of shock.

 

From the information given by the officer, and these signs, Connor surmised that this was the teenager to have found the deceased.

 

Hank had begun walking towards the teenager, but Connor caught Hank by the elbow and interrupted his stride. When Hank looked curiously at Connor, Connor shook his head minutely. 

 

“He is in shock, and likely will not be of any use to us at present. The responding officer will have already taken his statement and details, and should we have any further questions, we can ask the teenager later.”

 

Hank looked across to the bottom of the staircase, where the officer who hadn’t greeted them was awkwardly laying an arm across teenager’s shoulders. His face softened minutely before he turned back to Connor.

 

“It’s okay, I got this.” 

 

Hank hunched his shoulders in to make himself less threatening, no small feat when he’s 6’6”, and ambled towards the teenager, with Connor awkwardly following him.

 

“Hey,” he said gently, crouching in front of the teenager. “My name’s Hank. Is it okay if I ask you a few questions?”

 

The teenager didn’t look up from his feet, didn’t make any acknowledgement of Hank’s presence.

 

“What’s your name, kid?” Hank asked.

 

“‘M not a  _ kid _ ,” the teenager replied, sullenly, tightening the blanket around himself and causing the beat cop to drop his arm. Hank smiled at him, even though the teenager wasn’t looking.

 

“Well alright, but if you want me to stop calling you that, I need to know your name.”

 

The teenager scoffed, and after a few moments of silence, the beat cop answered Hank’s question.

 

“Says his name’s Jamie.”

 

This got Jamie to look up and he glared at the beat cop. Hank chuckled softly, and Jamie turned his glare on him.

 

“I get it. Real tough kid, huh?” Hank said, raising his hands in supplication.

 

Jamie rolled his eyes at Hank, and Connor gently placed his hand on Hank’s shoulder. 

 

“Hank, I don’t think--”

 

But Hank dropped his hands and looked at Connor.

 

“I said  _ I got this _ ,” Hank snapped.

 

Connor recoiled, stepping back and removing his hand from Hank’s shoulder, though he kept it hovering just above.

 

“Listen, Jamie. I’m not gonna get you in trouble, I just need to ask you a few questions, okay?”  Hank asked. He waited patiently for a response, but none seemed to be forthcoming.

 

“Why were you here tonight? Do your parents know where you are?”

 

Stony silence, except for the rain outside.

 

“Do you come here often? Or was this the first time you’ve been here?”

 

Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zip- _po._

 

Nodding to himself in recognition that this was going nowhere, Hank stood up, wincing as his knees cracked, and reached into his back pocket for his wallet. He dug out a note and placed it in between his index and middle finger of his right hand as he put his wallet back with his left.

 

“Look, kid. Here’s twenty bucks--”

 

“Hank, are you  _ bribing _ \--”

 

“I’m  _ encouraging _ a witness to talk. Now how about it?”

 

Jamie squinted at Hank, who wiggled the note a bit.

 

Jamie slowly extended an arm and made a grabby hand motion.

 

“Nuh uh. You’ll get paid when you answer.”

 

“You just said that you weren’t bribing him!” Connor objected.

 

“I’m not!”

 

Jamie slowly retracted his arm, staring at Hank suspiciously.

 

Sensing their impasse, Hank sighed as he put the note back into his wallet before rubbing a hand down his face.

 

“See? No bribes. Now let’s go see why they called us here.”

 

* * *

 

 

“A bit of a mess” was an understatement. The deceased--a Thomas Jacobsen, D.O.B 07/07/99--was placed sitting on the toilet, his left arm cut off just below the shoulder--and judging by the bleeding pattern, pre-mortem--and placed in the toilet bowl so that the curled fist stuck out between his legs, middle finger raised where his erect penis would be. Only, his penis was instead placed in his throat--slashed post-mortem.

 

There was broken glass scattered around the sink from where the mirror had been broken, the cracks forming a fractal pattern consistent with blunt-force trauma to the mid-parietal bone, reaffirmed by the blood on the tiles behind the deceased’s head. 

 

A piece of the mirror had then been used to dismember the arm, judging by the jagged cutting pattern on the victim’s triceps, biceps, and brachialis. It would have taken a large amount of force to cut through the humerus with the ad-hoc weapon, one that humans are incapable of. The shard was then used to castrate the deceased and slash his throat from ear to ear before being discarded beside the toilet. 

 

There was a pool of blood below the opening of the brachial artery, and Connor estimated the volume to be approximately 3.71 pints. It was most likely then that the cause of death was not subdural hematoma, but death by exsanguination.

 

Reconstruction of the scene revealed that while the trauma to the deceased’s brain was not fatal, it was adequate enough to knock the deceased out: hence the lack of struggle visible in the crime scene.

 

Judging by the degree of putrefaction--fresh, with rigor mortis still present--and the stage of larval development--first instar--, T.O.D was approximately twenty-two hours previously, making it around 5pm the day before.

 

Connor had completed all of this analysis in the time that it took Hank to enter the bathroom and let out a wolf-whistle.

 

“Sure is one helluva mess,” Hank said, scratching his beard. “But I don’t see why they had to call us in.”

 

Connor side-eyed his partner.

 

“There appears to be a similar  _ Modus operandi _ present to a previous case that we have investigated. It is likely that there is a connection.”

 

Hank's brow furrowed.

 

"Which case?"

 

"17 days ago, at  _The Garden of Gethsemane_ _,_ " Connor replied promptly.

 

“Yeah, well, that one was at an android sex club so calling us in on that one made sense. While the vic’s profile is the same--middle-aged white male--that’s not a lot to connect the two. Besides, it’s not like a… Colombian Dick-Tie is that unique.”

 

Connor’s LED changed to yellow as he searched for the term, however the only results were for a Colombian  _ necktie _ , and Connor reached the conclusion that it was another example of Hank making a pun. 

 

“While there have been seven instances of castration in this manner within the last twelve months and thirty-eight instances of homicidal cut-throat-injuries, the only case that corresponds with both of these criteria is the one that we investigated at The Garden. It is possible that upon review of Mr. Jacobsen’s finances, a more concrete connection between these two cases will be revealed.”

 

“Great, more paperwork,” Hank groaned at the notion of having to file for a warrant for Jacobsen’s finances.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw MURDER, impossible post-mortem contortion

Another day, another crime scene. Even though Connor didn’t need to rest, it appeared as if crime did not, either. He and Hank had been called in to investigate another murder, despite the fact that their shift was technically over, and Hank had been constantly grousing about that fact.

 

“I don’t see why we have to be the only two on the ‘android-human’ crimes taskforce,” Hank had said upon being assigned the case, before slamming down the remnants of his cold coffee and standing from his desk.

 

“Detroit is still in upheaval following the android revolution. Until a baseline is established, Captain Fowler will not know how much manpower to devote. Besides, you have been frequently mentioning your distaste of ‘spending all day on your ass filling out paperwork,’ and expressing a desire to ‘do some actual detective work for once,’” Connor replied, primly.

 

“Yeah? Well… Shut up,” Hank grumbled, shoulder-checking Connor as he walked by.

 

Things had continued to go downhill from there. Hank was mugged while waiting in front of a food truck, and then his car blew out _two_ tires so they couldn’t simply replace it with the spare and had to wait for the car to be towed and the precinct to send a vehicle over.

 

By the time they finally arrived at the crime scene, it was two hours after their shift was supposed to be done.

 

Hank had taken one look at the victim that was “folded up like some kind of human pretzel,” in an exaggerated _kapotasana_ or ‘king pigeon pose’ with his spine unnaturally bent between the third and fourth cervical vertebrae so that his body was curled on itself in such a way that his head was in the ‘L’ shape formed by his gastrocnemius and hamstrings. It had likely paralysed him from the neck down, judging by the lack of signs of struggle in the bedroom, but the positioning was incorrect to have been fatal.

 

Connor then surmised that cause of death was exsanguination, as the carotid artery and jugular vein had both been slashed. Though it was difficult to determine the exact volume of blood loss due to the bedspread and mattress having absorbed most of it, his conclusion was supported by the pallor of the corpse.

 

Once again the victim had been castrated, though this time the penis had been placed in the mouth, rather than the throat wound.

 

“Lieutenant,” Connor said, upon completing analysis of the scene. “Twice is a coincidence, but three times indicates the formation of a pattern. I believe that we are looking at a serial killer.”

 

“Great. But what does this investigation have to do with us?”

 

“Like the first two victims, Mr. Rodriguez has an established past using android sex-workers.”

 

Hank looked towards Connor, a frown furrowing his brow.

 

“Wait, how the hell do you know that?”

 

“Someone matching his description was reported as frequenting the establishment _The Gardens of Gethsemane_ with our first victim, Mr. Willingham.”

 

“That’s a pretty tenuous connection, kid. ‘Fat, middle-aged white guy’ could just as easily apply to me, as well.”

 

“Yes, but mention was made of the unique tattoo he has on his left bicep,” Connor replied, pointing at the tattoo in question.

 

“He comes here pretty often with another guy, about the same age. Pretty unremarkable except for this tatt he has. It’s some sort of bird? Like a falcon maybe? And in its talon it’s holding a double helix.”

 

Hank boggled at Connor for a moment before shaking his head.

 

“I _hate_ it when you do that.”

 

“Do what, Lieutenant?” Connor asked.

 

“Play recordings out of your mouth like you’re some sort of recording device.”

 

“That is the function of my recording devices. To record.”

 

“Yeah but not to replay them back like some kind of plastic lyre bird.”

 

“But--”

 

“No buts, kid. Stop replaying witness statements like that.”

 

“But I have a perfect recollection!” Connor protested, throwing his hands up in the air in a habit he had learned from Hank.

 

“It’s not about the recollection, it’s about you saying shit that’s not your own words!” Hank replied, snapping his fingers in Connor's face.

 

“How does that differ from reciting a quote or a poem, Lieutenant?” Connor asked, confused.

 

“Fine…” Hank paused, thinking. “Maybe it’s not so much the words but the fact that you use _their_ voice.”

 

“So you would prefer that I… recite witness statements rather than replay my recordings?”

 

“Yes. _Please_.”

 

“Very well.”

 

Several moments passed before Hank broke the silence.

 

“But a falcon, you said? This guy’s tattoo is obviously an eagle.”

 

“It is probable that the bartender was not an experienced ornithographer, and was not able to differentiate between a falcon and an eagle. Either that, or she was not in a position to adequately observe the tattoo.”

 

“Right, so, we’ll take a picture of this guy to the bartender, and get her to confirm. But other than that I still don’t see why _we_ have to be the ones staying past our shift. So far all the victims have been human, and other than their history, there’s not much to indicate any android involvement.”

 

Connor bowed his head in concession.

  
“I do believe that Captain Fowler has adequate reasoning to have assigned us these cases. Perhaps talking to the bartender again will lead to more information.”


	3. Chapter 3

Connor had called ahead to the  _ Garden of Gethsemane _ to ask if Claire--the bartender the night of Mr. Willingham’s murder--would be working. Luckily, she was, and Connor and Hank had gotten a positive I.D on Rodriguez. According to Claire, the two deceased had favoured a particular Traci who had not been seen since the night of the revolution--before the first murder. 

 

They had liked to play rough, so revenge was a possible motive. However, the Traci had not had any indications of becoming deviant up until disappearing. 

 

That lead was therefore exhausted, but Claire was able to confirm that Mr. Jacobsen also frequented the establishment, corroborating the evidence from his financial records. The connection thusly established, Hank sighed at the fact that he and Connor were going to have to solve the case after all. It’s not like they already had their plates full, or anything, with being the only-two on the “android-human crimes taskforce”--because even though androids now had legal standing as alive, anti-android prejudice still ran deep.

 

Hank had agreed to drop Connor back at the precinct so that he could go over the evidence again with this new link established while Hank himself went home to sleep.

 

So Connor sat at his desk, reviewing the video footage from the  _ Garden _ of the night of Mr. Willingham’s murder.

 

He had entered the room at 9:11pm with a Traci of the same model that he had apparently favoured, though according to Claire’s statement, it could not have been the same one. He had only purchased the room for an hour, so when Mr. Willingham had not yet emerged by 12:11am, the shift supervisor went to check on him, and the incident was reported to the DPD three minutes later at 12:14am.

 

Over the course of the three hours, no-one else had entered or exited the room, so where did the murderer go?

 

Connor had thoroughly inspected the scene of the crime, and there were no alternative exits that the murderer could have left by, and there was nowhere in the room to hide, so the murderer  _ must _ have left.

 

But how? There was no record on the CCTV. It was just three hours of various Traci models milling about, some with clients, others just advertising the merchandise.

 

Connor tried reviewing the footage from another camera. There were three placed in such a way to have the door to the crime scene in view.

 

Nope, nothing.

 

Frustrated, Connor swapped to the footage of the final camera.

 

...Wait a minute.

 

There was a slight warble to the image for 0.14 seconds at 11:47pm, which made it appear as though the Traci in frame had begun her step again.

 

Connor rewound.

 

No, it wasn’t a warble, it was a loop. 

 

Connor swapped back to the first camera view again. Although it wasn’t as obvious, there was a slight skip to indicate that the Traci’s movements had been recorded and replayed at a negligible offset.

 

In the last camera, at the same time, the same thing.

 

The murderer must have doctored the CCTV footage to disguise their exit. Connor had barely even noticed the discrepancy.

 

So, that explained why the Traci who had entered with Mr. Willingham wasn’t recorded exiting.

 

Since the Traci hadn’t been found at the scene of the crime, Connor was forced to conclude that it must have been committed by the Traci.

 

Connor frowned.

 

But why?

 

Evidence left at the scene of the crime, such as the black backpack found half-hidden in a pillowcase with rags and bleach, and the fact that no witnesses saw a bloodied Traci exiting the room meant that the Traci must have cleaned herself with those materials. This, in addition to the arterial spray indicating that Mr. Willingham’s throat had been slashed from behind and therefore likely not in self-defence implies that the act was premeditated.

 

Yes, Mr. Willingham had a past history of violence and assault against androids, but why would a Traci who coincidentally shared the model and make with the deceased’s favoured Traci kill him? Typically revenge murders are personally motivated.

 

_ Oh. _

 

It  _ was _ the same Traci.

  
She had infiltrated the  _ Garden _ as another Traci, knowing that physically she would be indistinguishable from others working there. The perfect disguise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, basically just me trying to work through a plot hole i made :B


End file.
